


oh, goodness gracieous

by graphite_satellite



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AMAB Asra, First Kiss, First Time, More tags to be added, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Other, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Vaginal Fingering, faust is a great wingman, hella canon divergence, i put lore in it, lots of feelings boy howdy, magically enhanced orgasms lmao, ”it’s got angst”, ”look at it”, ”you fucked up a perfectly good porn is what you did”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graphite_satellite/pseuds/graphite_satellite
Summary: When Gracie comes back flustered from a solo trip to the market, Asra has no warning for the bombshell she's about to drop on him.This somehow leads to Gracie finally reclaiming her life story.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	1. the goodness and the gracieous

In the small living space above his small magical supply shop, Asra sits at the small kitchen table, waiting for his tea to finish steeping. There’s an open book in front of him, but he couldn’t hope to focus on it right now. Between idle stirs of his darkening beverage, he glances anxiously at the clock. Gracie _should_ be back soon. She said she was just going down to the market to pick up a few things, and then she would be right back.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to invite himself along. This isn’t the first time Gracie’s gone out on her own; she’s gotten so much better at handling herself in crowds, and he’s taught her how to defend herself (though, gods willing, she’ll never have to), but, in alignment with his nature, he still fears the worst. He’s had countless nightmares where she leaves and never comes back. For a period of time, he _lived_ that nightmare. But he knows that doesn’t give him the right to strip her of her autonomy. She needs to learn to be independent sooner or later, and coddling her won’t do her any favors, no matter how badly he wants to.

Faust, resting on his shoulders, nudges his cheek with her nose. _“Worry too much.”_

He chuckles. “I know, you’re right. She’s very capable, and I have complete faith in her… I just don’t trust anyone else.”

_“Big friend?”_

“Good point. He’s the one exception.”

At what must be his tenth or twentieth or fiftieth glance at the clock, he hears the creak of someone coming up the stairs and spins about to face the doorway. He tries not to look too eager when Gracie appears.

“Welcome back,” he says, almost beaming. “How was the market?”

Slightly red in the face and definitely distracted, Gracie jumps and blurts out, “Nothing—!”

They seem to realize at the same time how odd of an answer that was. Before Asra can comment, Gracie continues, “I mean, it was good! A very good market. Lots of, uh, consumable goods to be... consumed.”

Already knowing that answer wasn’t much better, she clears her throat and busies herself with putting her purchases away, pointedly avoiding eye contact as she does.

Asra couldn’t hide his concern if he wanted to. “Gracie? Is everything… alright?”

“Yeah!” she replies too quickly, still not looking at him. “Totally alright. Completely fine. In fact, even more than fine! I must be getting over my anxiety because I just feel so energized after being around all those people!”

Not at all convinced but also unwilling to pry, Asra says, “Well, ah, that’s great to hear. I’m glad the market was... good.”

Gracie exaggerates a laugh. “You and me both!”

They lapse into awkward silence. Gracie continues to tend to everything that isn’t Asra, and Asra ponders what in the world could have happened in the forty minutes she’d been gone to make her this flustered. He doesn’t come to any satisfying conclusions, but on the bright side, it looks like his tea is ready to drink.

As he takes his first sip, an idea comes to him. He slips his tarot deck out of his pocket and quietly sets it on the table. If Gracie won’t give him any hints, maybe the cards will. He flips over the top card, and something in his gut sinks and soars at the same time: The Lovers. Two intertwining voices whisper about choice, about sacrifice, about union. They warn against impulsive action and encourage communication. Then they go quiet, leaving Asra even more confused than before. What choice? Whose union?

What more could they possibly sacrifice?

He’s so perturbed, he doesn’t notice Gracie take the seat next to him. “Um, Master?”

His eyes snap up, and he casually flips the card back over. “Yes?”

She’s still not quite looking at him, her cheeks stained a darker red. She fidgets with the hem of her skirt. “I have a question.”

He gives her an encouraging smile, swallowing around his own heart. “Hopefully, I have an answer. What’s on your mind?”

It takes her a moment to muster up the courage. Asra waits patiently, paying more attention to his tea than her to avoid making her more nervous.

Gripping her skirt, Gracie takes a deep breath, and the question comes out all at once: “What does sex feel like?”

Asra sputters into his teacup. He must have heard her wrong. “Pardon?”

With the hardest part out of the way, her next words practically fall out of her. “It’s just, well, I know what sex IS because, you know, you gave me that book to read and then asked if I had any questions, and I didn’t at the time because it all seemed pretty straightforward, but just now when I was coming back from the market I saw these two people having sex in an alley, and they were REALLY going at it, which seems weird since they were super in plain sight, and maybe that was part of the thrill, I don’t know, but once I saw them I had a hard time looking away because they both looked like they were having such a good time, and the noises they made were just, well, OBSCENE, and I know sex is supposed to feel good, but I sort of figured it wasn’t all that different from the pleasure of eating a full meal or reading a good book? So, um, I was hoping you’d be able to tell me more about what it actually feels like, ‘cause those are my only points of reference. I don’t remember having sex before. I don’t know if I ever have. But I assumed you have, so...”

Her cheeks are burning by the time she finishes, and Asra imagines he doesn’t look much better. It takes him a moment to process and gather his thoughts. “Ahhh... You assumed right,” he starts, somehow embarrassed to admit that to her. “But the way it feels...? It’s hard to describe. I don’t know that I can compare it to anything specific. And there can be a lot of variation depending on your mood and what kinds of... actions you perform. I think it’s something you need to experience to fully understand. Kind of like magic.”

For the first time, Gracie raises her gaze to meet his. Purple locks with periwinkle, and despite the timid uncertainty in her eyes, Asra feels pinned to the spot.

“Could you... show me?”

He damn near drops the teacup. There is _no way_ he heard her right. “ _Pardon?”_

She immediately backpedals. “Never mind! That was such a weird thing to say, I’m so sorry, just forget I said anything—“

“No!” Asra says, surprising both Gracie and himself. “No, no, it’s okay. You just caught me off guard.”

Gracie gapes at him, then looks back down at her lap. “Oh.”

He thinks of The Lovers and their two voices. Is this the choice? What might they sacrifice?

All he wants to do is say yes. His heart sings the word so loudly, he’s surprised Gracie doesn’t hear it. But even as his vocal cords prepare themselves for that single sacred syllable, he keeps his mouth tightly shut. He can’t serve his own impulses right now, not when Gracie is so vulnerable and likely confused about what she wants. It would be despicable of him to take advantage of her like that.

After a long, long pause, he says, much more calmly than he feels, “Why do you want _me_ to show you? Wouldn’t it be better to explore that with someone you really care about?”

“I _do_ really care about you!” she exclaims, her voice subtly and strangely desperate. “You’re my mentor, but you’re also more than that. You’re the person I trust most in the whole world. You’re the person who’s always there for me, who always makes me feel safe and loved and important... I can’t imagine asking this of anyone else. I can’t imagine... _doing_ this with anyone else.” She makes a small, strangled noise and hides her face in her hands. “But I get if it’s too weird for you, or if you don’t see me that way—“

Asra’s head is spinning. Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying? Or is he twisting her words into what he wants to hear?

“Gracie.” He gently guides her hands away from her face and holds them between his. He runs his thumbs over her knuckles until she meets his eyes, and he says, “Is this really what you want? Please answer honestly. If you’re not sure, you can say so.”

For several agonizing seconds, Gracie doesn’t say anything. Her expression shifts in small ways as she truly considers his question. He’s grateful she’s taking it seriously, but the silence is so constricting it might just squeeze the life out of him. With a glance downward, he realizes the feeling is actually more physical than it is metaphorical. Faust, sensing his anxiety, wraps around his middle to give him a comforting squeeze.

“ _Okay?_ ” she asks silently.

He smiles appreciatively and nods. “ _I will be.”_

Gracie lets out a heavy breath. When Asra lifts his head, he finds her staring back at him without a hint of hesitation. The resolution in her eyes is awe-inspiring, just like every other part of her. He has to consciously keep himself from leaning in and capturing those plush lips with his own.

Lacing their fingers together, Gracie softly squeezes Asra’s hands and says, “I’m sure.”

Asra can’t tell if he wants to laugh, or cry, or both. He wonders if she can feel him trembling. “You’re sure?”

She nods. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to have sex, and I want to have it with you.” Her expression softens, and she adds, “If that’s okay.”

“Oh, Gracie,” he whispers, reaching out to caress and cup her cheek. He brings her closer and rests his forehead against hers. “Of course it’s okay. It’s _more_ than okay. I’m so glad you came to me. I’m so _honored_.” He gulps down every other word he wishes he could say. Words like love. Words like devotion. Words like hope. “I’m going to take such good care of you…”

Dusted pink and practically glowing, Gracie rests her free hand against his chest, right above his heart. Feeling the heavy beat beneath her palm brings an achingly affectionate smile to her face. “You always do.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.” With some effort, he pulls back just enough to see her whole face. “Gracie, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” she breathes.

“If you change your mind at any point, for any reason, or if you feel uncomfortable, or if it doesn’t feel good, no matter how invested we are... promise you’ll tell me to stop.”

He was worried such a statement might dampen the mood, but if anything, Gracie looks even more eager than she did a moment ago. “I promise; I swear on my life.” She inches forward, tantalizingly close. “So, please…”

“Please…?” Their lips are nearly brushing.

“Kiss me.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Asra covers it with his own. Gracie melts against him instantly, a low noise escaping her throat as he kisses her slowly, savoring her. The hand on his chest drags up his skin to the back of his neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He doesn’t expect her to pull him closer, doesn’t expect her to deepen the kiss, tracing his lower lip with her tongue, but he welcomes her boldness with parted lips and a breathless sigh. 

This doesn’t feel real. He knows it must be, given that he can feel each one of her fingertips massaging the base of his skull, but after so many years of wanting and wishing, he almost can’t believe it’s happening. He’s kissing her. He’s really kissing her. And when he slides his tongue against hers to finally taste her again, she _moans_. He can’t imagine a more beautiful sound.

A sudden tugging at his torso startles him into pulling away. Gracie blinks in confusion, then hides a small fit of giggles behind her hand. Faust, jaws clamped around his sash, tugs at the garment insistently, trying to pull it down Asra’s shoulder. He watches her, dumbfounded. “What are you doing—?”

“ _Helping!_ ” she replies cheerfully. Asra’s face burns at the implication, but he makes it easier for her by pulling the sash over his head himself. Faust immediately darts off with it and disappears down the stairs. _“Have fun!”_

He stares down at his open shirt, recovering from the shock, then gradually joins Gracie in her giggling. He faces her with a warm smile. “I think she’s got the right idea… But, first.” He stands, offering his hand. “May I escort you to bed?”

A flustered grin spreads over Gracie’s face. She takes his hand, laughing softly as she does. “Lead the way.”

He pulls her into his arms and into another kiss. And another. And another, each one growing hungrier than the last as Asra maneuvers them toward the bed. Curious fingers explore his exposed skin like they ache to memorize him. In return, he runs his hands down her sides, hesitating at the hem of her shirt to give her a chance to stop him. When she doesn’t, he ventures under the fabric, splaying his fingers to feel as much of her as possible as he slowly works his way up her stomach to cup the fullness of her breasts. He gently rolls her nipples between his fingers, and she whimpers, nearly tearing her shirt apart in her eagerness to get it out of his way.

The backs of Asra’s knees hit the mattress, and he drops down onto it, pulling Gracie with him so she’s straddling his lap. He lets his hands wander as he kisses along her jaw and down her throat, groaning appreciatively at the way she weaves her fingers through his hair, guiding him lower. He lavishes one pert nipple with his tongue, barely sinking his teeth into it before moving onto the next. Gracie shivers under his ministrations. Each of her gasps rings in his ears like a victory chime.

Placing one hand on her hip to keep her steady, he trails the other up her thigh, under her skirt, pressing a tentative finger against her clothed entrance. They both moan at the feeling.

“Oh my gods, Gracie…” he murmurs, dipping his fingers into her panties, letting them slip between her folds. “You’re so _wet_.”

She moans helplessly as he strokes her, drawing circles around her clit. Her grip on his hair tightens. “I _need_ you. I need you _so badly_ , Master, please—“

That word rakes down his spine like a rusty nail. He presses two fingers inside of her and curls them upward, making her keen. “Say my name.”

“ _Asra_ .” It erupts from her like she’s been holding it back the whole time. He groans, pressing his cheek to her heart. It’s beating so hard, so quick, just for him. The pooling heat in his groin is getting much harder to ignore. “Please, _Asra, more—“_

After a few exploratory strokes, his fingers slip out of her, and she whines brokenly at the loss. He squeezes her hip soothingly. “Lay down for me, my dear. I’ll give you everything you need.”

He helps her climb off of him, holding her steady as she steps out of her clothes. Then he helps her get settled on the bed, adjusting the pillows and blankets so she’s properly supported.

“There,” he says, giving her a quick kiss. “Comfy?”

She smiles at him adoringly, her eyes clouded with arousal. “Very.”

Her legs part for him, and he takes a moment to appreciate the view. Gracie flushes maroon under his loving gaze, making no move to cover herself. If anything, she opens wider, exposing herself to him and giving him full, unrestricted access. His heart flutters. When she said she trusts him more than anyone, when she said he makes her feel safe and loved and important, she meant it. He can see it in her face. He can feel it in her aura, radiating toward him in soft, inviting waves.

He slides his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers, letting their auras mingle as he says, “I’ve never met anyone who’s left me at such a loss for words… Gracie, my darling, you’re ravishing, exquisite, irresistible, and that doesn’t even begin to cover how highly I think of you.”

With his free hand, he coaxes her long, wine dark hair out of its ponytail so it can fan out against the pillows. Gracie pulls him down to kiss him deeply, and he can feel her start to laugh.

“Asra,” she says, amusement dancing across her features. “I’m already naked. No matter how hard you try, you can’t possibly charm any more clothes off me.”

He laughs with her. “I can’t help it. I see you, and it’s like the rest of the world falls away…”

He moves down her body, lips never leaving her skin as he nestles between her thighs. He glances up at her, making sure she’s watching as he parts her lips with his thumbs and licks a long, languid line from her hole to her clit. A desperate noise tumbles out of her. Her hands find purchase in his hair, holding on for dear life as he laps at her in earnest.

“So sweet…” he purrs, not missing the way Gracie mewls at the comment. He draws lazy shapes with his tongue, reacquainting himself at his own leisure. The fingers in his hair twitch. They urge him up just slightly, and he understands exactly where she wants him to focus. He gladly latches onto her clit, washing his tongue over the sensitive nub and sucking attentively.

Gracie _writhes_ beneath him, his name falling from her lips like a chant. “Asra, _Asra, yes, ohmygodsAsra, Asraaaa_ —“

Heavily encouraged, he shifts just slightly to ease his fingers back inside of her, pumping and stroking and searching for that one magic spot that’ll make her see stars. He knows he’s found it when her thighs clamp around his head and her already slurring speech turns incoherent. His movements continue relentlessly even as his tongue and fingers start to ache, pressing deeper, working faster, pushing her higher and higher until she comes apart with a shuddering cry. Even then, he doesn’t stop as much as he gradually slows, guiding her through her orgasm until she quivers from overstimulation.

Drawing back, Asra sits up to admire his work. Gracie lays in a blissed-out heap against the bedding, chest heaving, eyelashes fluttering. He crawls up to lay beside her and pulls her against his chest. She goes willingly, pressing her mouth to the hollow of his throat, each breath sending sparks across his skin.

“That was… That…” she pants, unable to complete the thought.

Asra chuckles, kissing her hair. “Good, I hope?”

“So much more than good. It was…” She pauses, searching for the right word. He feels her grin as she finds it. “Orgasmic. I finally get it.”

She falls into a breathless fit of giggles, and he tumbles right after her. They stay tangled together for some time after that as Gracie catches her breath and Asra mindlessly combs his fingers through her hair. The silence is warm, comfortable, wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Asra’s almost sure she’s fallen asleep when she runs a hand up his side and kisses the spot right below his ear.

“Your turn,” she whispers, barely giving him time to react before she flips him onto his back and sits on top of him, their hips flush together. She wiggles a bit, feeling his erection through his pants, and hums sympathetically. “You’ve been ignoring yourself this whole time, haven’t you? Poor thing…”

Asra’s mouth hangs open as he struggles to process the sudden shift. It doesn’t help that Gracie hasn’t let up on her movement, still gently rocking their hips together as she smiles down at him, seemingly waiting for him to catch up before she continues. After a few tries, he eventually sputters out, “Gracie, you… You don’t have to…”

“I _want_ to,” she says, her voice soft, yet firm. “You just did all that work to make me feel good. I wanna make you feel good, too.”

She makes a good point. It’s hard to argue with her, especially in this position. Arousal rolls over his mind and body like a thick, humid fog. He’s so tempted to disappear into it, to lay back and let Gracie have her way, but, for some reason, he won’t let himself. “I said I would take care of you…”

“You did. And you do.” Her eyes sparkle with infatuation. “You always take such good care of me, Asra. Let me take care of _you_ this time.”

He feels his resolve crack. She waits for him patiently, hips still rocking, eyes still sparkling. One by one, she undoes the last few buttons on his shirt, placing her warm hand on his lower abdomen once the fabric falls open. She doesn’t go any further, but that one touch is enough to make Asra break.

“...Okay,” he relents, relaxing into the pillows. “But don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with just because you think I’d like it—”

She leans down to quiet him with a kiss. It’s gentle, reassuring, and so full of affection he tries to chase her lips when she pulls away. The hand on his torso stops him. “I won’t, I promise. Just relax and enjoy yourself, okay?”

With a small gulp, he nods. His eyes track her every movement, unwilling to miss a thing. She starts by running both hands up his abdomen, tracing the lines of his stomach and chest, brushing against his nipples. Then she leans down to follow the same path with her mouth. She takes her time with him like she’s been waiting to touch him for ages, and now that she’s got the chance, she’s determined to make the most of it. The thought alone is enough to make him shiver.

She helps him remove his shirt before sinking lower to undo the buttons of his pants. He lifts his hips as she hooks her fingers in his waistband, easing them and his underclothes down his legs. Now faced with his naked erection, her eyes brighten in intrigue. It’s hard not to get embarrassed with her looking at him like that, like he’s the most interesting, captivating thing she’s ever seen. It’s even harder when she wraps her hand around him and says, “How is every part of you so lovely?”

Asra chokes out a laugh despite himself. “I’ve heard a lot of words used to describe that part of the body… But ‘lovely’ has never been one of them.”

“That’s such a shame… I guess it’s a good thing I’m here to say it.” She runs her thumb over the head, smearing a bead of precum that she then leans in to taste. Asra grips the blankets, unable to stifle his moan as her tongue swirls around him, delving into the sensitive slit. “How’s this…?”

“Please keep going,” he almost begs, his voice dissolving into a half-sob as she obliges, taking the tip into her mouth to suck. For someone who’s never done this before (to her knowledge), she has remarkably good intuition, moving her tongue in circles as she slowly works her way down. He realizes with a stuttering moan that she must be emulating the techniques he just used on her. “Gods, yes, Gracie, you’re so amazing--”

Careful not to push her down, he rests his hand on the back of her head. She hums contentedly at the contact, pausing briefly at the high, needy noise Asra makes. He catches the impish glint in her eye just before she doubles down, taking in as much of him as she can fit and humming purposefully. He digs his fingers into her scalp, his hips rolling involuntarily. She takes this in stride, and before he can think to apologize, her head is bobbing in an easy rhythm along his length.

“Gracie,” he tries to warn her, barely able to speak, “Gracie, I-- I’m not gonna-- I’m _so close_ \--”

He expects her to pop off, to finish him with her hand, but, really, since when has she ever adhered to his expectations? Of course she’d keep going, of course she’d pick up the pace and squeeze his thigh like she’s encouraging him to let go. And who is he to deny her what she wants?

It only takes another moment for the knot in his stomach to unravel. Pleasant static washes over him, and with a drawn-out, whimpering moan, he releases into her mouth. He collapses back against the bed, not realizing how tense he’d been until his muscles essentially turn to mush. Gracie hesitates a bit before pulling off him, her warm hands rubbing over his hips and sides as he comes down. He sighs and reaches for her. Her fingers weave through his, and she moves to curl up with him. He relishes the way her bare skin feels against his, nuzzling his cheek into her breast.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers out of nowhere. “I can’t believe I get to hold you like this.”

He snorts, a genuine smile spread across his face. “I can’t believe you’re using my own lines against me, and they’re working.”

Cupping his jaw, she tilts his head to meet her gaze. “It’s not a line, Asra. I’m serious. You’re such a beautiful person, in mind, in body, in soul… I’ve wanted you for so long, it feels like I’ve never _not_ wanted you. Being with you like this… it feels like a dream. I’m still nervous that I’m about to wake up.”

Asra’s chest tightens. He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, and it’s all he can do to keep them from spilling over. He sniffs, swallows thickly, and before Gracie notices, he fits their lips together in a tender kiss, pouring every bit of unspoken love into it so it’s unmistakable how he feels, even if he can’t say it yet. She kisses him back in a way that tells him it’s okay, and some of the worry melts from his shoulders.

He licks his lips as they part, his eyebrows furrowing. “Gracie, did you… Did you swallow?”

She blinks at him. “Uh, yeah. Was I not supposed to?”

He stares at her, speechless. The only thing he can think to do is kiss her again.

* * *

Some time later, Asra stirs from his sleep. Late afternoon light streams through the window, throwing golden rivulets over where he and Gracie lay wrapped up in each other. He watches her eyes flutter open, blinking away the haze of sleep. As soon as she sees him, she smiles and snuggles closer.

“It wasn’t a dream…” she murmurs.

Warmth envelopes his chest. He kisses the corner of her mouth, and as he does, he suddenly understands their sacrifice. After what they did, they’ll never be able to have the same relationship they did before. They’ll never be able to act like it didn’t happen. They’ll never be able to look at each other the same way.

But, he thinks to himself as she kisses him fully, is that really such a bad thing?


	2. 2 goodness 2 gracieous

“Mmmm, Gracie… Just like that, ahh…~”

“Asraaa, oh gods…~”

Slowly rolling her hips, Gracie rubs her slick folds along the length of Asra’s cock. The way her clit drags against his shaft is indescribably exquisite. She whimpers and moans as she rocks, constantly reminded, constantly captivated that they’re touching in the most intimate way, that they’re inches away from the act she’s been aching for… The prospect dangles just outside her reach. She stretches toward it mentally, imagining how it would feel to line him up with her hole and sink down, to feel his heat inside of her. If his fingers feel so good against her sweet spot, then the tip of his cock…

Two weeks ago, she would have been mortified by such thoughts, but that was before she had the pleasure of calling Asra her lover. He is secretive about many things, but his attraction to her is not one of them, not anymore. He takes every opportunity to pay her compliments, whispering his dirtiest fantasies into her ear. It’s hard to stay shy around that, especially since discovering how much she enjoys the attention.

Case in point, Asra gazes up at her with openly lovesick eyes, moans her name without a hint of shame, massages the exposed flesh of her hips and sides with tender care, and she thrives off every second. She dips down to capture his lips in a burning kiss, whispering desperately, “Asra, I’m close…”

He groans deep in his throat. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he arches against her, eliciting gasps from them both. “Ohh, me too… You feel _so good_ …” The raw passion in his voice sends a shiver through her core. Just as she thinks it can’t feel any better, Asra’s magic trickles down her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, and suddenly every one of her nerves trills in C sharp. “Come with me, darling…”

And with a cry, she does. Her limbs turn to jelly as her orgasm pulses through her. Below her, Asra goes similarly limp as he releases, his grip on her hips gradually loosening. One the initial shivers subside, she barely has enough sense to roll off so they can catch their breath. She takes a moment to savor the aftermath: the pleasant tingles radiating down her legs, the soft mattress cradling her heavy body, the deep, drum-like beat of her heart pounding in her chest and between her thighs. It’s intoxicating, just like the first time.

It takes her a while to recover, but once she does, she rolls onto her side to face Asra. His eyes are closed, his breathing deep and rhythmic. She stifles a snort. Just like him to fall asleep. Summoning her magic, she brushes her fingers against his abdomen, vanishing the mess there before it has a chance to dry. A few weeks ago, she never would have pulled off a spell like that, but lately she’s found that a lot of magic she used to struggle with comes easily now. She and Asra have talked at length about why; so far, her favorite theory is that their union opened a part of her aura she didn’t know was closed, and while Asra has offered alternative theories, she knows the idea makes him happier than he says.

A warm hand suddenly catches hers. Rolling over, Asra brings it to his lips and kisses her knuckles. His eyes flutter open, and he gives her a sleepy smile. “Mmmm, good morning.”

She giggles softly, moving closer to rest their foreheads together. “Very, very good morning.”

“I’ll say…” he sighs, melting against her. “We should do that more often.”

“Oh absolutely, but... maybe on days when there isn’t much to do? I don’t think the shop would do too well if we stayed in bed all morning, every morning.”

“No?” Asra wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. “But what if I want to keep you to myself all morning, every morning?”

Snuggling up to his chest, she says, “I don’t think I’d mind that… if we didn’t have to eat.”

Asra chuckles. “Ahhh, fair point… I should get started on breakfast.”

He makes no move to get up. Gracie grins against his collarbone. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

“Mmm. I’ll get up and make it right now.”

He does not, and Gracie bursts out laughing. She lifts her head to peck his lips. “Want some help?”

“Nooooo, I won’t make you get up.”

“I _want_ to get up. C’mon, beautiful.”

After taking a pause to appreciate his flustered expression, Gracie untangles herself and scoots off the bed to stretch. She yawns reflexively as her vertebrae pop, then searches through a nearby pillow pile, slipping into the biggest, softest sweater she finds. It smells like Asra, so it might be his, but it could just as easily be something she bought that he kept “borrowing”. It’s hard to keep track of ownership when they’ve always shared everything. The only things Gracie knows are hers and hers _alone_ are her journals. They’re stacked neatly in their own corner, far from the other books so Asra doesn’t pick one up and open it by accident. Nothing she writes is a secret, and she’ll often read him passages she’s especially proud of, but it’s less a matter of privacy and more a matter of trust: she trusts him not to read her journals, and he trusts her not to get into trouble while he’s away, even when he really shouldn’t.

Warm arms wrap around her from behind. She leans back into Asra’s chest with a smile, placing her hands over his. He kisses her temple. “How are you feeling?”

She hums, her eyes sliding shut. “Still a little sleepy, but otherwise good.”

“No headaches?”

He asks the same question every day, and every day she gives the same answer: “No.”

“Huh…” The noise he makes is light and perturbed, but he doesn’t linger. “Well, that’s good to hear.” He presses another kiss to her cheek before reluctantly moving away to pull a blanket off the floor and wrap it around his waist. “Now, should we do something with that leftover flatbread, or…?”

It’s a bit eclectic, but they eventually manage to piece together a satisfying breakfast. They take their time eating, often pausing between bites to talk or touch or plant lazy kisses on whatever bit of skin is closest. They’ve never shied away from casual affection, but the recent changes in their relationship have boosted that natural affinity to ridiculous heights. From the dreamy looks they give each other, you’d think they’d never laid eyes on anyone else.

Asra’s just finished his last strawberry when Gracie puts her elbows on the table and squares her shoulders. “So… there’s something I wanted to talk about.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Should I be worried?” His tone is playful, but genuine concern shines through his eyes.

“No, no, of course not! _We’re_ good.” She punctuates this by taking and squeezing his hand, and he relaxes somewhat. “Really good, actually. As cliche as it sounds, these last few weeks have been, well… magical.”

They both glow pink as they look at each other. Asra takes her other hand and smiles tenderly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“And what we have is obviously so much more than just sex, but…” She frowns, searching for the right words. “We haven’t actually… gone all the way, yet. And I don’t mind taking things slow, but, I guess I’m just wondering if there’s a reason for that?”

Asra tenses again, his eyes widening. “Ah…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to!” she says quickly. “And we never have to do that if you’re not comfortable. I’m more than happy with what we’ve done so far. I’m ecstatic, really. I mean, you haven’t left once since this all started, and it’s been so nice having you around. I guess I’m just worried it’s something _I’m_ doing, and—”

“Oh gods, Gracie, no—” Asra cuts in, somehow looking even more panicked. He holds her hands firmly. “You haven’t done _anything_ wrong. Not a single thing. I _do_ want to go all the way with you. I have since the beginning…” He bites his lip, color flooding his cheeks. “Since before the beginning, even. It’s not your fault I’m hesitant, it’s just...”

She nods along, hanging on his every word.

“There are things… I mean, we’ve… _I’ve_ said and done some things that…” He flounders a bit longer before heaving a sigh and hanging his head. “I have no idea how to explain this right.”

Gracie reaches out to cup his jaw, lifting his face so she can look at him. “That’s okay,” she says softly, stroking his cheek. “Take your time. I’m patient.”

Asra’s eyes glisten. He looks so tired, so burdened, but his adoration shows through his smile. “You always are. You always have been.” A tear spills over, and Gracie catches it with her thumb. “You’ve always been so good to me.”

“So have you…” Her voice cracks, which surprises both of them.

Asra shakes his head. “I could have done so much better. There are so many things I _should_ have done, but I was… I was scared. And I doubted you, and it cost me _everything_ …” He trails off, then sighs again. A few more tears fall. “And here I am, doubting you again… all because _I’m_ afraid. You deserve better.”

“I… what?” Her worry shows plain on her face. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

It takes him a minute to answer. “There are… there are some things you need to see. I wanted to wait until you were ready, but… I think you’ve been ready for a lot longer than I have.”

Before she can ask another question, she’s distracted by movement in her peripheral vision. Faust races up the stairs toward Asra’s chair, climbing his body to drape around his shoulders. He lets out a startled laugh.

“Thanks, Faust.” He sniffles and motions with his head. “Could you keep Gracie company for me? I think it’s about time she sees what’s in the cellar.”

Faust nods and slithers over to wrap around Gracie’s shoulders, instead.

“Wait, cellar? We have a _cellar_ ?” Her brow furrows, something like a headache pinching at her temples. “How long have we had a _cellar_ ? What’s _down_ there?”

Asra smiles apologetically. “That’s… You’re going to have to find out for yourself, unfortunately. It’s really not so bad. It’s just… a lot.”

Her lips twist. “Mm… Why can’t you just tell me?”

“If there were _any_ possible way for me to tell you, I would.” He leans in closer, wounded eyes looking directly into hers. “Gracie, I promise I’ll explain everything once you come back. You’re going to find the answers to a lot of your questions down there, questions I always avoided because I was so scared of hurting you, and… and I’m sorry I can’t be with you as you do, but that’s why I’m sending Faust. She’ll be there the whole time. And... I’ll be right here if you need me, okay?”

She hesitates. How could he hurt her? Is he talking about her missing memories? What do those have to do with them having sex? And why does he look so... haunted?

He squeezes her hand and gives her an encouraging smile. “You’re not going to need me, though. You’ve always been more than capable on your own. I should have said this a long time ago, but… I believe in you, Gracie. You’re going to be fine.”

Even as shadows loom over his face, he sounds like he means it. Nothing he’s saying makes any sense… but that’s not really new. She’s trusted him this long. Things have worked out so far. What’s the worst that could happen? 

...Maybe she shouldn’t ask that question.

She lets out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “...You are… _impossible_ to figure out. But if this is going to help me understand why… if this is going to give me answers, I guess… I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

She presses a kiss to his forehead, and for a split second after she pulls away, he looks utterly lost. Then he snaps to attention and puts on his best smile. “The cellar door is under the rug at the bottom of the stairs. I… I’ll be here.”

They share a nod, and Gracie grabs her favorite blanket from the bed, holding it tight to her chest as she makes her way down the stairs.

* * *

The cellar is dark and dusty. Gracie really shouldn’t have expected anything different. Asra is the only one who knew the cellar existed, and of course he wouldn’t keep it tidy. She can hardly get him to clean the parts of the shop they inhabit.

Fondly exasperated, she summons a ball of light to illuminate the space. It’s a single room, no bigger than the upstairs living space, which is to say, not very big at all. Densely packed bookshelves line two of the walls, and the third displays a handful of paintings depicting unfamiliar people and landscapes. She glances over most of them, but one in particular catches her attention: a portrait of what appears to be a family. Two people, one with bluish eyes and one with purple, smile serenely next to a woman with stark white hair and a confident smirk. Standing between the couple, a small child missing several teeth grins at nothing in particular. Something about the texture of her hair, the curve of her cheek, seems so familiar…

She steps closer. “Is that…?”

‘ _Baby friend!’_

Gracie’s spirit nearly abandons her body. She whips around, searching wildly for the source of the voice. “Who—?”

Faust’s head drops, upside down, into her line of sight. _‘Hi!’_

Gracie stares at her, dumbfounded. “Faust… is it just me, or can you suddenly talk?”

 _‘Not sudden!’_ Faust wiggles happily. _‘And not talk!’_

“Wha…” The gears in Gracie’s head groan. A memory surfaces, something Asra once told her about limited communication between magicians and their familiars. “But… but you’re Asra’s familiar. I shouldn’t be able to hear you… Right?”

Faust doesn’t answer. She crawls off Gracie and slithers over to one of the bookshelves, nosing at a thin volume on the bottom. _‘Read?’_

Gracie follows dubiously. She kneels to take the book and inspect the cover. It doesn’t look very old, at least compared to some of the tombs Asra reads, and while its condition is pristine, it feels well-read and well-loved. She runs her fingers over the title.

“ _Of Flowers and Faraway Places: a Collection of Poems_ by…” Her chest goes cold. “...Graciela de la Luz?”

She stares at the name, and then at Faust, then back at the name, then back at Faust. She points at the cover ineffectually, and Faust tilts her head in response.

“ _My_ name is Graciela,” she says finally. “Am I… Am I Graciela de la Luz? Is this _my_ book?”

 _‘Books!’_ Faust nudges several more volumes until they fall flat on the floor: two more poetry collections, a book of short stories, and a novel, all attributed to Graciela de la Luz. Gracie drags wide eyes over each one.

“Are you trying to tell me I wrote _and published_ all of these books?” Faust nods, and Gracie plops onto her butt numbly. “Five books… I wrote five books, and I don’t recognize a single one…”

Once the initial shock has subsided, she balances the first book in her lap and flips open the cover. There’s an inscription on the end paper that she immediately recognizes as her own handwriting:

_“To my moon and stars—_

_I pray the dawn never comes._

_Forever yours,_

_Gracie”_

“My moon and stars…?” She leafs through the pages, skimming dozens of poems named after flowers and territories she’s only ever seen on maps. But toward the end, one poem stands out from the rest. It’s not named after a flower or a place, and it’s printed on the only dog eared page in the entire book:

_Travel at Night_

_Wander the wharf with me at_

_sunset. We’ll gather the_

_clouds and comb them into_

_curls; we’ll steal the line_

_between sea and sky and_

_shape it into circles; we’ll_

_dip our toes into the water_

_and watch as purple night_

_unfurls above us like a_

_map. The waning moon will_

_whisper secrets as the waves_

_bid her_ hush _… If I am_

_dreaming, dear heart, do not_

_wake me. We shall resist_

_the blaze of dawn as minutes_

_beget hours beget eternities of_

_us, the stars, and our soft_

_crescent smiles._

Suddenly, it clicks.

“Asra.” She turns the book so Faust can see. “I wrote this poem for Asra, I must have— But, when? Do you know when this was published?”

Faust tilts her head, and Gracie realizes with a sudden laugh that of course she doesn’t know; she’s a snake. Numbered dates don’t mean anything to her. But before she can start looking for a date, Faust straightens her body, pointing her nose at the top of the second bookshelf.

 _‘Time,’_ she says sagely.

“Time…?” Setting the poetry book aside, Gracie rises and reaches for the leftmost book on the top shelf. It doesn’t look nearly as professional as the last one. The front and back are covered with childish doodles of hearts and stars and crescent moons. The fraying, yellowed pages threaten to break away from the binding as she opens it, and as she deciphers the first page, it becomes clear that it isn’t really a book; it’s a journal:

_“My name is Graciela de la Luz. I am ten years old. My auntie gave me this journal so I would stop asking for loose paper every time I want to write something down. She sounded grumpy, but I still think this is a very thoughtful gift. I am excited to have all my writing in one place!”_

She reads the passage again and again, almost unable to believe her eyes. Then she looks at the bookshelf, at all the other volumes packed inside it, and her shoulders start to tremble.

“Are these… are they all...” She turns to Faust, voice wavering. “Are they all _my_ journals?”

Faust nods, and a dam inside Gracie breaks. She tears through the room looking for a lantern, and once both her hands are free, she stacks the journals on the floor, wraps herself up in her blanket (and Faust), and settles in to skim every single page of every single volume, devouring bits of information like a street dog scarfing down scraps.

According to the journals, she was born in Vesuvia. Her parents went on a trip when she was very young. They were only supposed to be gone a week, but the ship never made it back to port. Her aunt Rosalba took her in and raised her after that, and that same aunt Rosalba was the original owner of the magic shop. Little Gracie apparently had quite an aptitude for magic. She wrote about her lessons frequently, but even more than that, she wrote about her dreams of traveling the world, and how, though her aunt was wary, she agreed to support her endeavors once she turned eighteen. 

Right before her eighteenth birthday, she attended the annual Masquerade, something present day Gracie has only heard about in passing. She was not a fan of the count, which she was not shy about saying, but she loved the people of Vesuvia, and she wanted to immerse herself in their festive spirit. And she did, but she also wrote pages upon pages about the gorgeous night she spent with an ethereal, white-haired “ _angel_ ”...

She stops short to do the math in her head. If they met when they were seventeen, then they’ve technically known each other for…

“Eight years.” Her shoulders slump. “And I lost six of them. Oh, my gods…”

Faust nuzzles her cheek. She nuzzles back morosely, and with a sigh, she reads on.

After the Masquerade, she wrote about Asra some, but she also wrote about travel preparations and all the places she wanted to go. The next few journals describe everything she saw and did during her eleven months abroad, alongside drafts of poems, short stories, and ideas for novels. Muted melancholy weighs in her chest, growing heavier with each incredible adventure she reads but doesn’t remember. She knows she wrote it, which means she must have lived it, but despite that, despite how badly she wants to feel a connection, she can’t help but feel like she’s reading the story of someone else’s life. And somehow, the thought devastates her.

But she doesn’t stop reading. She can’t stop now. After being gone so many months, she returned home to see her aunt and attend the Masquerade. She wrote at length about her excitement, her contempt for the count, her admiration for the new countess, and her hope that, even after a year away, she’d run into the beautiful stranger who’d haunted her sweetest dreams since that one magical night they shared.

And to her delight, she did. The way she wrote about it, it was as if fate reunited them, and like the year before, they spent the night completely engrossed in each other. The second parting was harder. She tried to find him before she left again, but within a week she’d ran out of places to look. It was like he’d completely vanished. And through the next eleven months of journal entries detailing even more amazing sights and experiences, she thought of him, daydreamed about him, about them, together. So, upon their third meeting at the Masquerade, when she finally found him again and held him in her arms, she asked him to go with her.

And to her delight, he said yes.

They spent the next two years traveling together. Infatuated musings made up about half of every entry. It didn’t take long for them to admit their feelings, and after all was out in the open, they paraded around the world as only lovers could, enjoying each place just a little more because they were there together. Reading in the present, Gracie endures an unmistakable longing. It’s a feeling she knows too well. It’s a feeling she’s dealt with almost constantly these last two years.

Then, according to the journals, after living the life she’d always dreamed of, she returned home with her love because her aunt Rosalba passed away. It happened too suddenly. Everyone who knew her was shocked; none more so than Gracie herself, who struggled with the guilt of being gone for most of her aunt’s final years. With no family left and a shop that suddenly belonged to her, she asked if her love would stay with her as she kept her aunt’s legacy alive, and, of course, he said yes.

The next year proved difficult, but domestic. It wasn’t easy for them to adjust to their new reality. But, just as before, they found their greatest comfort in each other. And based on her writing, while nothing about the situation was perfect, she was happy. She had her shop, she had the love of her life, she had her city, and she was happy.

But the plague, always present, always looming in the context of her entries, continued to worsen. Bodies piled. Citizens suffered. Fear pervaded. She wrote, outraged, about the failings of the count and the destitution of her people. She couldn’t sit and watch anymore. She had to do something, anything, to help. But her love disagreed. He was scared. He wanted to go far, far away where the plague couldn’t seize them. And she understood his fear, she sympathized with it, but she refused to abandon her home when it needed her most.

And to her horror, he left.

Her writing changed after that. She went days, sometimes whole weeks without a word, shifting from detailed reports and interpretations to vague, rambling half-poems:

_“I never thought the sky could lose its vibrancy. I never thought a minute could last a lifetime. I never thought being alone could be so lonely.”_

_“The Doctor cares for me. And her. And him. And them. And everyone else, except himself.”_

_“I am full, and I am empty. The Hermit agrees new life cannot survive in this world. Not yet. I will take matters into my own hands and hope he can someday forgive me.”_

The very last entry appears in the jarring middle of the final journal. Her handwriting is uncharacteristically sloppy, and the ink blurs where small droplets seem to have hit the page. It shouldn’t make any sense, but somehow, chillingly, Gracie knows exactly what it means:

_“A star has died inside me. I exuded her dust, and I am forever stained. He can never look at me the same way. I will never own another mirror.”_

* * *

Asra sits at the table as she drifts up the stairs. His head snaps to look at her, but he doesn’t move. She stands in the doorway, equally paralyzed.

He gulps, croaking, “Gracie…”

“We met eight years ago,” she blurts out, numbly registering the tears streaming down her face. “We traveled the world together. We were in love. I was pregnant, and I—“

He crosses the room in two strides and pulls her into his arms. She all but collapses against him, her shoulders heaving with sobs. She doesn’t know why she’s crying. Her memories haven’t returned. She doesn’t feel like any of what she just read actually happened to her. But she’s still overwhelmed. Her heart still aches. Maybe she’s crying for her past self, the one who remembers all her pain. Maybe she’s crying for Asra, who weeps apologies into her hair like he never forgave himself. Maybe she’s crying for both, and for herself, and for everyone she hasn’t mourned because she forgot who they were.

They hold each other long after their shaking subsides. He cradles her against his chest like she’ll disappear if he lets go, and she buries her face in his neck to feel his pulse against her cheek.

“Asra…” she whispers. Somehow, he holds her tighter. “Where did I go…? What happened to me…?”

He chokes around a stifled sob. “That’s… Gracie, I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I keep breaking promises, but… That's something I have to show you.”


	3. goodness gracieous: tokyo drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these past eight weeks in particular have sucked super hard so sorry for the delay here’s another chapter
> 
> only one more to go i promissssse

The sharp, silver crescent moon casts little light onto the water surrounding the dock, but that’s okay. Asra doesn’t mind the dark; not when the sky provides plenty to gaze upon. Vesuvia isn’t overly-lit by any means, but compared to here, where light pollution and everything else goes to die, it may as well be a beacon. He can’t remember the last time he saw so many stars this close to home. He didn’t think the stars would shine over a place like this, and yet there they are, undeterred in their brilliance. They’re so far away and so long-lived, he reasons, they must not worry much over the affairs of mortals. How he envies them...

A cool wind comes off the water, reminding him of the warmth pressed against his side and the reason he’s able to bear strain and suffering. He and Gracie rest against each other, two cards trembling in the breeze, supporting the other’s weight so they stay upright. Asra has no doubt they’d fall apart on their own, but together, with Faust laid across their laps like an anchor, they manage, against all odds, to hold steady. Maybe he’s got it better than the stars, after all. The world has its flaws, its dangers, its unspeakable evils, but he’s not alone in it. As long as he’s not alone...

Sneaking a glance to the side, he tries to read Gracie’s expression. It’s not easy to judge from this angle, in this lighting, but she seems surprisingly calm for someone who just found out she died two years ago. Her cheeks, like his, are still stained with tears, and the sagging corners of her mouth carry an unmistakable weariness, but nothing about her seems scared, or disgusted, or even angry. He’d prepared himself for any of those reactions; he never expected her to… not react.

The longer they sit in this numb silence, the tighter anxiety grips his throat. Why isn’t she reacting? Is something wrong? 

...That’s a dumb question, he thinks. He’d be better off asking what _isn’t_ wrong. Still, he has to wonder what’s going through her head. What must she think of him now? If he were her, he wouldn’t know what to say to him, either. He wouldn’t even know how to meet his eye.

“Asra?”

Though barely a whisper, he snaps to attention, his eyes refocusing on Gracie’s concerned face. “Mm?”

She takes his hand between hers and holds it in her lap. It’s only then he realizes how badly he's shaking. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, he’s stunned. “Am… Am _I_ okay?”

“You just had this look on your face…” She glances away, absently rubbing circles over each of his knuckles. “Kinda like the one you’d get whenever I asked about my past. I… I can’t imagine any of this is easy for you.”

“Gracie, I…” He finds himself at a loss for words. She’s so genuinely worried over him… If they were anywhere else, the irony might move him to laughter. “ _I_ should be the one asking if _you’re_ okay. I’ve had time to process what happened. You’ve had... _maybe_ an hour. With all this coming out of nowhere, I can’t even imagine how you must feel…” Careful not to knock Faust into the water, he turns toward her more fully. “How _do_ you feel?”

She blinks like this is a surprising question. “Um… I, well…” Her mouth cycles through several shapes, finally settling on a wry smile. “There’s really no way to put it gently… This whole situation is kinda fucked up.”

Asra stands corrected. Even here, Gracie suddenly dropping the f-bomb is enough to pull a laugh out of him. “You’re right. It’s really fucked up.”

“And I think it’ll take me a while to really wrap my head around it, but, I dunno.” Her gaze flits to her lap. She often does this when she’s nervous or embarrassed, but she doesn’t look either. As she plays with his fingers, she just looks thoughtful. “In what time I _have_ had to process all this, I think I’ve come to a few conclusions.”

“Oh?” The more they talk, the easier it is for him to breathe. He rests a tentative hand on her knee, feeling lighter when she scoots closer. “Do tell.”

“Well…” She takes a moment to organize her thoughts before continuing, “At first, the whole thing seemed unbelievable. Not the part where I actually died, though, weirdly enough. Somehow that kinda made sense, or, maybe I should say it made a lot of things _make_ sense. But all the stuff about you storming out after a fight and dabbling in dark magicks… I dunno, it just didn’t sound like you. Like, I can totally believe you hijacked a ritual to steal me a body, that sounds like exactly the sort of solution you would come to, but the rest of it just felt… wrong. Incorrect.

“And then I realized: it felt wrong because _you_ weren’t the person who made those choices. The Asra I know wouldn’t act that way. You’ve become a completely different person since then, and the consequences of your actions probably contributed a lot to that, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t have any memories of the person you used to be. I’ve only ever known _you._ And, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to say that makes the past irrelevant or anything, because that’s obviously what brought us here, I just… I think people can change, and I think it’s okay when they do. I don’t think they always have to be haunted by a version of themself that doesn’t exist anymore, you know?

“That being said, ah…” She glances at him, flushes pink, and glances away. “Another thing that’s occurred to me is… Okay, so we always assumed I would be able to get my memories back somehow, but obviously now we know that isn’t true. I only remember as far back as I’ve had this body, which makes me think that… well, that I’m a completely different person, too. Not just in an emotional sense, but sort of in a tangible sense, too. I have the same soul, the same aura, the same magic… but that’s about it. There’s nothing else physically connecting me to who I used to be. Everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ve ever experienced happened after… after _she_ died. I don’t have any of her scars. I’ve never gone through a… well, you know. And from reading the journals, I know we’re definitely similar, but at no point did it feel like I was reading about myself. It was _her_ life story, not mine. 

“And I’m not necessarily _thrilled,_ but I’m also not really upset about it. I’ve had a good life so far. I may not have a past, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make the most of whatever time I have left. And knowing how quickly it can all be taken away, I fully intend on making the most of every second. And, and along that same vein, I…” Her blush deepens. She inhales deeply through her nose. “I think life is too short to be anything but transparent. And this, this probably — okay, this _definitely_ isn’t the best place for this conversation, but I need to be completely honest with you, and…”

She trails off. Asra teeters on the edge of his metaphorical seat, one mild breeze away from plummeting into his personal pit of dread. She wants to leave. She must. Why else would she hesitate? What else could weigh so heavy on her tongue that she’d fear to drop it on him? And, oh gods, what if she never wants to see him again? He wouldn’t fault her for it — she has every right to go and live her life away from him. He’s taken enough of her limited time with his damned cowardice. But, what would he even _do_ with himself? Where would he go? How would he _be_? He couldn’t handle losing her the first time, and now…

She brings his hand to her chest, startling him from his silent panic. Her heart races under his fingertips. Something about its rhythm is so familiar, though he’s not sure why. She leans toward him, finally meeting his eyes. “Asra, I just need to tell you… I need to tell you that I love you.”

...Huh?

The words stick to his skin without quite sinking in. Whether or not she notices his staggering bewilderment, she continues, “I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a long time because, well, I figured I’d never have a chance with you, being your apprentice. But it was so hard to deny my feelings. It was so hard to pretend like I didn’t want to grab your face and kiss the starlight out of you every time we woke up next to each other. It was _so hard_ to watch you leave every few weeks and act like I didn’t want to drop to my knees and beg you to stay with me. And now that I know the truth about everything, now that I know it’s _possible_ for us to be together, I need you to know where I stand, and I need to know where _you_ stand, because, because—”

She swallows thickly. New tears bead in the corners of her eyes. “Because I love who you are now, and I want to be with you now, and I know you must care about me in some way, but part of me is _so scared_ you don’t actually want _me._ You fell in love with a completely different Gracie years ago, and now she’s gone, and I’m here, and I look exactly like her, but I’m _not._ And it’s okay if you still love her, but if she’s the one you really want—“ She falters, stifling a sob. “If she’s the one you want, you have to tell me now, because I can’t be with you if you’re always thinking about someone else, I just _can’t_.”

Her voice cracks in the same instant as Asra’s heart. Mind and senses overwhelmed, he takes her face in his shaking hands and presses his lips to her forehead. “Oh gods, Gracie, _no_ … I want _you_. I love _you_ with _every bit_ of heart I have left. You _have_ to believe me.” A tear falls; he kisses it away. “And I loved who you were, and maybe part of me always will, but I... I’ve spent the last two years falling hopelessly in love with _you._ I’ll do anything and everything to prove it. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll—”

She practically tackles him into an embrace, squeezing him so hard he gasps. “Don’t leave,” she squeaks, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Please. That’s all I want. Stay with me, or take me with you, just don’t leave anymore—”

“I won’t.” He can’t hold her any closer, but he can squeeze her just as tight, and he can stroke her hair as the tears run freely down his face. “I’m _never_ going to leave you again, Gracie. I swear it on my life. As long as you want me, I’m here.”

She sighs, sniffling into his chest. “And… and if I never stop wanting you?”

Something between a chuckle and a sob bubbles up his throat. “I think I could learn to live with that…”

They lapse into a more comfortable silence as they hold each other and catch their breath. Gracie lazily kisses his collarbone, then the nape of his neck, resting her lips against his pulse. In return, he places a hand between her shoulder blades. It's almost as if he can feel his own heart beating in her chest, but before he can think about it too hard, she lets out a long, deep yawn. Her breath tickles his skin, and he can’t help but smile.

“Ready to go home?” he whispers.

“ _So_ ready.” She nods, nuzzling him once before reluctantly moving away. “After all that, we deserve a bath, a nap, and… at least a few days off, don’t you think?”

He slowly scoots back and gets to his feet, offering his hand and a pair of imploring eyes. “Only a few days?” 

She pretends to think it over as she rises to meet him. Her arms, much gentler this time, snake around his waist. “A few days, a week or two… We can feel it out.”

“Mmmm… I’d love to feel you out…” Tucking her head under his chin, he rests his hands on the small of her back, almost kneading the flesh there. She melts against him with a low groan.

“At least take me home first,” she teases, cheek squished against his chest. “Gods, I can’t wait to get home…”

Collecting Faust, they step back into their borrowed gondola and dip their fingers in the water. Although they’re both exhausted (and dehydrated), their combined magic is enough to propel the boat forward. They barely register the first hints of morning light as they come ashore, and the gradually rising sun seems lost on them entirely as they slowly shuffle home.


End file.
